


searching.

by cherryade



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eddie Diaz Needs a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective Henrietta "Hen" Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:13:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryade/pseuds/cherryade
Summary: “Well, it almost did kill you, you stupid reckless idiot,” Buck snaps.Instead of knocking out his opponent, Eddie's opponent knocks him out. (a 3x08 remix)
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 135
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	searching.

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 



_"I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy one, I will indulge the other.” - Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein_

The world is moving too slowly as the familiar feeling takes over. He can feel the crushing sensation of _too much_ spill out with every punch he throws, in every kick he lands, and he feels like he’s trapped in quicksand. He lashes out with his right foot, aims a kick at his opponent’s stomach. A hand wraps around his foot and he spins before slamming into the ground with a thud that’s audible above the roaring crowd. 

Pain explodes in his ribs and the world speeds up again. 

His opponent is advancing on him. Growling, he rolls to the side and clambers to his feet, throwing a punch at the guy’s face. His movements are wild, uncoordinated, his heart thumping a staccato rhythm. 

His fist glances off his jaw and he pulls back, knuckles burning.

He’s back to feeling like a force is trying to crawl out of his being, chest tight and skin prickling. Every swing he makes isn’t enough, every hit he takes only serving to fuel the burning that is building up within him. His opponent is circling him now, like a hawk waiting to strike and he suddenly feels like a wounded animal trapped in its sights. 

He can see where this fight is going. His ribs are burning in a way that screams more than bruised and he hasn’t been able to land a half decent hit in the two long minutes he's been in the ring. He can feel fatigue weighting his limbs, but the _feeling_ that’s building inside him is too much for him to stop. 

Bellowing, he charges forward. The world slows again and he prays.

Prays that he can finally find peace.

* * *

Muffled laughter was coming from the other end of the floor as the next crew began setting up for their shift. Buck sighed as he waited, head propped in his hands as he leaned his elbows on his knees. Held in the cocoon of the locker rooms, he sat and watched the busy activity of the fire house.

He had missed this.

He had been back at the fire house for a few weeks now, but he still felt off-kilter, like something wasn’t quite right. He had been crushed by a fire truck and spun ass over tea kettle by a tsunami. This post-lawsuit chill should be a piece of cake and yet, there he was, moping on a bench in the locker room. His gaze lingered on the neat row of names taped on the locker doors and he ached. Maddie had always told him that his intensity would come back to bite him some day. _You think so much, feel so much, that you end up with tunnel vision,_ she had told him and he thought he knew what it meant now because he couldn’t see a way out of the weird mood their little firehouse family had fallen into.

They tread differently around him, their trust a fragile thing that he only got to hold on calls before he had to return it. It manifested in the little things: Chim’s jokes, once light-hearted, had sharpened. Buck’s favourite dishes no longer appeared on the lunch menu. He was assigned more than his fair share of the most hated chores. 

Worst of it all, however, was Eddie.

He had apologised and Eddie’s forgiveness had been granted and yet it still felt like his best friend was a million miles away. It wasn’t until he had to face the Eddie-and-Christopher-shaped hole in his life that he realised what they had given him, an oasis of peace in a world that wouldn’t stop moving, wouldn’t stop going. He missed their trips to the park, a giggling Chris swinging between them and Eddie’s grin so impossibly bright that it blotted out the sun. He missed the quiet nights curled up on the station couch, and the clinking of beer bottles as they settled in for a movie with Chris wedged between them. 

Buck sighed as he scrubbed a hand down his face. He knew that there was something going on in Eddie’s life that he was not privy to, an unknown that made his gut spasm with discomfort the more he thought about it, but he doesn’t know if it was still his place to ask. He didn’t miss the grunt that passed Eddie’s lips when they hugged on Halloween before he was shoved away.

“Hey Buck, sorry it took so long,” a voice said behind him. Hen bumped his shoulder as she strode past, a scent of soap trailing behind her. “The inventory took longer than expected and there was a queue for the showers.”

“It’s cool,” Buck replied, watching as she stuffed her dirty clothes into her duffel. “I have nowhere to be anyway.” He could hear the self-pity in his voice and he hated it. Hen hoisted her back over her shoulders and shut the door.

“You wanna come over for dinner? Karen’s cooking,” she offered. She knew him too well to offer sympathy, and he knew her too well to think that the offer was anything but. He was grateful for Hen, grateful that she was still standing in his corner. They had been taking extra shifts together recently, him to pay the medical bills from the fire truck that his insurance doesn’t cover (he doesn’t want to think of the lawsuit money) and her to cover the costs of a family road trip they wanted to take Denny on.

Buck shook his head. 

“Nah, it’s okay. I just wanna head home and collapse on my bed.”

He stood and together, they walked out into the parking lot, waving goodbye to the current shift. The sun had set by the time the rig had rolled into the station from the last call of their shift and the air was calm and quiet. 

“You doing anything special with the family tonight?” Buck asked. He thought of his empty apartment and how it felt and he was glad that his friend had a warm home to go back to.

“We’re probably just going to watch Toys Story until our eyeballs fall out,” Hen replied with a laugh. “Denny’s been on a Toys Story kick lately.”

Buck grinned as he fished out his keys. He was about to reply when his ringtone floated up from his back pocket. Shooting Hen an apologetic look, he pulled out his phone and froze. Eddie’s face was grinning up at him from the lit up screen. He might have been staring for a bit too long as Hen cleared her throat, looking pointedly at his phone. He swiped right to pick up and held the phone to his ear.

“Eddie?” he said tentatively. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hen watching him. He could hear laboured breathing from the other end of the line. “Eddie, is everything alright?”

“Help,” said Eddie, voice low and raspy with pain, and a cold dread washed over him. 

“Where are you?” he thought he said. Time seemed to have warped around him.

“Warehouse. Next to the one that burned down last week.” Buck paled as he remembered the blaze that had razed the building to the ground. 

“I’m on my way,” he said, as he gestured for Hen to get in the jeep. Hen hopped right in, a silent question in her eyes and a worried frown on her brow. “Stay on the line, Eddie, don’t hang up.”

There was a muffled groan and then,

“Sorry Buck. ‘m tired.”

He heard the phone clatter to the ground and Buck wanted to scream.

* * *

Eddie wakes up when he feels himself moving. Someone is pulling him to sit upright and he flinches when he feels cold metal on his bare back. The world is moving in nauseating flashes of light, and sound is popping in his ear drums. A deep thrum of agony spreads throughout him peaking in his head. He thinks he hears a thump and a muttered “ _I’m only doing this cause you’re my best fighter, Diaz”_ but his brain sloshes and the next thing he knows, he is alone.

His head feels hot and three sizes too big and he rolls it drunkenly in favour of gravity, moaning in pain. His memory slips and slides inside his head and he grasps. Tears slip from his eyes and fall. _They’ll put out the fire_ , he thinks hysterically and blinks at the empty room. All he remembers is feeling like a balloon being steadily pumped full of air, stretching impossibly thin until a sharp agonising explosion in the centre of his face wipes all rational thought. He reaches up to wipe at the cold that’s seeping out of the pulsating throb and it comes away wet and sticky. His gaze flutters to the St. Christopher’s medallion lying on his heaving chest and suddenly, all the air is sucked out of the room.

_Christopher._

His stomach rolls, and he clutches the small oval pendant in a shaking hand as he loses his dinner on the concrete. Panic is running through his veins, _Christopher I need to get to Christopher,_ and he scrabbles blindly with his free hand for purchase, recoiling when it hits a rough scratchy surface. His brain sways and the world clears for an instant. He tilts his head to the left with a groan and he sees his duffel, phone sitting atop a folded towel. 

_Call. I’m sorry Christopher. Need to tell,_ he thinks. He tells his arm to move and it does, inching slowly forward. He pulls it to himself with effort, and presses the button to activate the screen. A sob slips past his lips as the light spears through his brain and he slams his eyes shut. His skull is a gas tank and his brain is pressurised air. 

_Oh god, Chris._

He tries again.

He’s crying openly, tears running rivulets down his bloodied face but he’ll push past it, knows he has to try. The screen is a blur of colour, but he unlocks his phone with muscle memory and sheer willpower. The light dims as his background comes into view. It’s a photo of him and Chris and Buck on movie night, snuggled deep in their blanket fort in the living room. 

_Buck._

Eddie’s fingers move without his bidding. The world is starting to fuzz again and he needs to get there before it disappears.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice pops out and Eddie sucks in air. _Buck help_.

“Help,” he blurts. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and he wants to curl up and die.

“Where are you?” Buck demands and Eddie stirs. Buck is asking, and Eddie will always answer.

“Warehouse,” he says although he’s not sure. An image of a flaming building, of a sturdy shoulder pressed to his. “Next to the one that burned down last week.” 

There is silence, then, “I’m on my way.”

Eddie feels himself slipping, the empty ring appearing and disappearing around him.

“-ng up.” 

He groans. 

“Sorry, Buck,” he thinks he mutters. There’s a jackhammer in his skull and his arms are shaking with the effort of holding the phone to his ear. “‘m tired.”

He feels his arm give out and the phone clatters to the ground. He’s done it. He’s called Buck. Buck will know what to do. Thoughtful, caring, generous Buck who came into his life and swept away all the darkness with his bright, sunny, stupidly handsome face. Buck who stood in front of his little boy and shielded him from the might of a towering tsunami.

Time passes by in syrupy bursts, the space around him shimmering and dipping, but Eddie relaxes. Buck is coming and if Buck can wrest Christopher from the grip of Mother Nature, maybe he can save Eddie too?

There’s a sudden shout and he jerks, pain ripping through him in sweeping agony. 

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry,” the voice says, softer this time.

_Buck._

He feels a hand on his face and he forces his eyes open. He cringes and moans as two figures loom above him, hands reaching out to touch.

“Hey, hey, easy, we got you,” says another voice and Eddie struggles to put the pieces together.

_Laughter, warm arms around him, a kind beautiful smile._

“Hen?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You sit tight, Eddie, we’ll get you home.” He feels two sets of hands prodding gently, leaving fire in their wake. 

“Stop,” he moans. Everything is spinning and he reaches out for something to hold on to. His hands wrap around a solid bicep and he clings.

“Hey, no, Eddie, don’t move,” comes Buck’s voice. It’s gentle, but with an undercurrent of fear and Eddie frowns.

“Why’re you scared, Buck?” he slurs, a tendril of anger stirring in his belly. He wants to stand up and fight, to wrap Buck in a thick fleece blanket and hide him from the world. He starts to rise, but a hand presses down on his chest and he gasps, curling in on himself.

“Because of you, you idiot,” Buck says angrily, but it sounds like he’s crying.

“We gotta get him to the hospital, Buck,” Hen says. “I’m really worried about that concussion.” 

There is a beat of silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck whispers. “This is gonna hurt.”

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Buck that he could never hurt him when the world explodes in a powder keg of pain and he stops thinking at all.

* * *

Buck was pacing. 

There was still blood on his hands and all down his shirt. (He was trying to not think about the distinctive hand-shaped one that ringed his right bicep.) The image of Eddie, slumped against the metal pole of the fence, blood sliding down his face and pooling in his lap, had been seared permanently into his memory and the thought made him want to break down and cry. 

But he couldn’t. Not here in the cold waiting room where they were waiting for the doctor to deliver the news. Where he doesn’t know if he was going to have to tell Eddie’s son _Christopher_ that his dad was dead or worse.

“Buck, sit down,” said Hen, voice firm but eyes gentle. Buck sighed and plopped down next to her, burying his face in his hands. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he leaned into it. “Eddie’s going to be fine. He’s strong and he has someone he’d fight the world to get home to.” 

He snorted. “I’m not sure if even Christopher can bring him back from the dead, Hen.”

She levelled him with an unimpressed look and suddenly, something within him broke.

“Why does it feel like I’ve already lost him?” he whispered. Tears ran hotly down his face and he wrapped his arms around himself in a piss poor attempt at comfort. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.” Hen squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. Buck was about to respond when the doctor entered the room. Buck was on his feet before Eddie’s name even left the man’s lips.

“Mr Diaz has three broken ribs and a broken nose which we’ve set as well as three cracked ribs. We were originally pretty worried about the concussion, and while the scans do show some swelling in his brain, there are no bleeds so we’re confident that it will resolve itself in due course,” the doctor said. He offered them a reassuring smile.

Relief swept through him so strongly that for one brief moment, the room spun. 

“He’s sleeping right now and it’s past visiting hours.” He held up a hand as a protest fell unbidden from Buck’s lips. “But I can let one of you go in and see him for a few minutes.” 

Buck started forward before looking back at Hen, a guilty look on his face. Rolling her eyes, Hen pressed a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Go, Buck,” she said. He offered her the ghost of a grin as he followed the doctor into the darkened room. The room was quiet save for the mechanical sounds of medical apparatus and the sharp bite of antiseptic pervading the air. Buck barely acknowledged the nod and encouraging half smile offered by the doctor as he stepped forward. Eddie was pale against the starched white sheets, hair a tousled mess. Swathed in bandages, he looked like a mummy and Buck had to suppress the hysterical urge to giggle. 

He watched the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, calmer now that he’d been tended to. The man was going to have a long night of hourly check-ins ahead of him and Buck wished that he could be there to help him through it. He took a steadying breath and braced himself on the foot of the bed.

“Hey Eddie, I’m so mad at you right now but we can talk about this later. See, I can be mature.” He laughed humourlessly. “Okay, logically, it’s because you’re asleep and probably can’t hear me but I like my reason better and you can’t argue with me now so I win. I made some calls and Christopher’s going to be staying at your abuela’s until you’re better. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them what happened yet but I am most definitely going to be in the room when your abuela tears you a new one.”

Tears welled up in his eyes and he brushed them away. In the bed, Eddie lay still, and in that moment, Buck would have given anything to see his brown eyes gaze up at him. 

“I gotta go,” he whispered instead and it felt like a physical hurt to have to turn away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He stepped out of the room, sniffling. 

“He doing okay?” Hen asked and Buck nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Her gaze lingered on the closed door and she sighed.

“Let me drive you home,” she said. He knew that he made for quite a sight, dried blood clinging to his person and eyes red-rimmed. “I don't think you should be driving in the state you’re in.”

“Yeah, okay,” Buck responded. “Thanks, Hen.”

* * *

Buck has both hands in his pockets as he strolls down the hallway. He’s early enough that the hospital is just beginning to get busy. He’d taken a shower the moment he got home, spending long minutes under the hot spray, scrubbing furiously at his hands and arms. The sun had started to rise when he finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep, his alarm going off an hour later. 

He stops before the open door way of Eddie's room and takes a deep breath. He runs into burning buildings for a living and yet the cool dim room is a daunting prospect. 

“Buck?” a quiet voice calls and he takes an involuntary step forward, pulled in by an implacable force. He walks into the room.

Eddie is awake, propped up by the incline of the bed and a number of strategically placed pillows. The bruises that were invisible beneath the blood yesterday bloom across his jaw and across his face, and peek out from under the thin hospital gown. He looks terrible, like he'd barely slept a wink.

“You look terrible,” Eddie rasps and a flash of anger blindsides him.

“You asshole,” Buck grits out. Eddie pins him with a watery stare, chin tilted in defiance. He looks so much like a hurt child that all the rage leaves him in an exhausting sweep. Time suspends as they stare at each other and then

“Buck-”

“Eddie-”

Buck laughs but there is no humour in it. He steps forward and lowers himself into the chair by the bed.

“You first. I think I deserve an explanation after what you put us through last night.”

A tear slips from Eddie’s eye. Buck is abruptly reminded of his friend’s lingering concussion, but he’s built up steam and he’s not about to let Eddie’s shattered defences get in the way.

“I started street fighting a few weeks ago. Lena introduced me. I just- I just needed everything to stop. I was just so angry, at Shannon, at you, at myself, that I needed to get it all out.” He raises imploring eyes at Buck. “I swear I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“How far did you mean to let it go then?” An unpleasant pit has opened in his stomach and he’s not sure he wants to know the answer. Eddie sniffs.

“Far enough for me to get out of my head. It’s- it’s too much. It was killing me.”

“Well, it almost did kill you, you stupid reckless idiot,” Buck snaps. “Did you even think about what it would do to Christopher? You’re the only parent that kid has left. He thinks you hang the damned moon and you’re going to break his heart?"

A sob bursts past Eddie’s lips as he buries his face in his hands, mumbled apologies slipping past his lips. Buck closes his eyes and breathes. He’s never seen strong, dependable Eddie so beaten down, stripped bare and vulnerable, and he wants to wrap him up in his arms and protect him from all the hurt in the world. He reaches out and places a hand on his trembling shoulders. 

“Hey, I get it, okay?” Buck murmurs. “These past couple of months haven’t been easy for me too. There were days where things got so much that I wanted to just lie down and quit but you picked me up, Eddie.” He thinks back on that day and the memory is clear as day. The sunlight filtering in from his giant loft windows, the tacky feel of unwashed everything. He was wrapped up in a blanket of his own misery, too empty and too full to even contemplate moving, when his blanket was ripped off of him to reveal Eddie’s determined face. Eddie had propped him up when he needed it, gave him a reason to crawl out of bed in the morning, and now, he was going to do the same for him. 

“Now it’s my turn to pick you up. Abuela’s agreed to watch Christopher while you heal up at my place. I owe Bobby like, three New Year’s Eves and a few Fourth of Julys, but I managed to take the week off. When you’re ready, we’ll make an appointment with Frank, yeah? I’ll drive you.” He runs his hand down Eddie’s arm and slips his hand in his. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. Let me help.”

A low keening sound escapes Eddie as he pulls Buck forward. Buck’s arms come up without conscious thought, enveloping him in a warm hug. Outside, the hustle and bustle of the hospital grows as the new day begins.

* * *

Eddie can hear Christopher’s delighted laugh when he swings open the door of the jeep. The evening air is crisp, the sky lit up in hues of reds and yellows. Next to him, Buck is reaching to the back seat to pull out the batch of freshly baked muffins they’d picked up from Christopher’s favourite bakery. 

He feels a bit like he’s made of glass. 

He’d spent the past week recuperating in Buck’s apartment, soaking in the quiet of the neighbourhood and Buck’s steadfast companionship. There were a few more heart-to-heart conversations, pulled out from deep within him by Buck’s patient presence, and he for the first time in a very long time, he thinks he can feel the beginnings of peace.

The bruises splashed across his skin have turned an impressive shade of yellow-green and his ribs ache with every breath, but he’s free of blood and he thinks he’s ready to face Christopher again.

“You ready?” Buck asks, shooting him one of his brilliant grins. Eddie feels his lips curve into a returning grin as he braces to step out of the car.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go surprise my son.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write in past tense (and the regret is very real for switching it up cause it was originally all in present tense but it started smelling a bit too floral after a few paragraphs), nor have I written anything this long in a very long time, so I hope you will forgive any odd sentence structures. 
> 
> I have no medical knowledge, nor do I have ready access to the show. I have done the Google for both the medical bits and the timeline bits but I'm not sure if it's really all that accurate. Nonetheless, creative license means we can play around with all those things a bit, and I hope it served the purpose of giving you something to read on a/an (insert weather here) (insert time of day).
> 
> As with all of us on this site, I don't own the sandbox. I just play in it.


End file.
